


Misnomer

by FugalGear



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Violence, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:33:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4097701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FugalGear/pseuds/FugalGear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I’d do it, but I, I just can’t remember how</i><br/>You talk to her<br/>She’s your lover now. </p><p>The blow made him feel lightheaded, and the words Richard had muttered under his breath in Jim’s passing reverberated at the edge of his mouth. One sentence with which Richard had bulldozed through the line of what his brother would tolerate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misnomer

First came physical pain. A sharp and fast spread of red started to bloom across Richard’s cheek from the unanticipated blow. He was too sluggish to dodge it, and stumbled backward when his planted feet could not counterbalance the momentum of his upper body. 

Jim had struck him. Rationally Richard accepted this; he could feel the burn of his skin, and with his own two eyes he registered Jim’s controlled movements when he turned to face him. Turned to assess Richard’s face for the second it took to chose his course of action. 

Second came shock. Richard’s brother stood an arm’s length in front of him, his stance wide. While a furrowed brow was the only sign of distress apparent on his face, Richard knew there was fury behind the stern expression, as so often with his sibling Jim’s body didn’t recognize the swell of rage until it had simmered away. 

Still, Richard was in disbelief. Had Jim ever hit him before, like that? Out of malice or anger or for any reason at all? Lightly touching his open palm to the searing skin of his cheek, Richard stepped away from Jim in search of something to balance himself with, and stopped to do so when he felt the fingers of his other hand slam down onto the back of the sofa. The blow made him feel lightheaded, and the words Richard had muttered under his breath in Jim’s passing reverberated at the edge of his mouth. One sentence with which Richard had bulldozed through the line of what his brother would tolerate. 

Moran stood behind Jim. Richard’s gaze dragged the distance between his brother and his body guard. Moran always stood behind Jim. In fact, there were two tall, burly men at Jim’s heel—just as there were two Jims seething at him. 

Richard considered his own double vision and wondered if his twin and Moran noticed his drunkenness. It would surprise him if they didn’t. 

He could feel the path those Bloody Marys scorched from his lips to his gut. The uneasy churning that started when Richard forwent his cocktail and his glass in favor of drinking liquor straight from the bottle. Anger had brewed in the man with every bitter swallow—frustrated and possessive and honestly? Downright lonely. 

Richard had forgotten his anger in lieu of the incredulity he presently was experiencing. After all, he had every right to continue being furious with his brother—his brother who disappeared with Moran in tow more frequently than seemed necessary. His brother who had gone out that evening to a dinner party with the very same rugged employee.

Any part of Richard’s jumbled mind that decided Jim deserved his scathing remark backtracked the second Richard focused his eyes on Jim’s face. It was the only second Richard had to register the pain and disappointment in his twin’s features before they hardened back into a twisted snarl.

In the same way that the slap shattered his fury, the sudden rush of exposure that washed over him replaced his stunned disbelief with guilt. There was a dull buzz zipping around the tip of his tongue, and Richard caught it between his teeth before he disgorged any more impetuous words. 

In his stomach, a lurking sense of pettiness sloshed. The urge to backpedal hit Richard like a tidal wave, sent his mind racing to find something sloppy and apologetic to stutter. Nothing came but the spongy dryness of his dehydrated tongue. 

It was foolish to wait by the door that evening, poised to attack while vicious jealousy simmered under his blazing skin—yet Richard had paced miles into the hardwood floor of the main room, biding his time until the pair returned. The circular thoughts empowered him, and he posed like a coiled snake with venom aching in his gritted jaw. 

Moran had been the focus, had been the reason, but there he stood, unharmed by the horrible memory Richard had evoked. The reference was only for Jim: a hasty punishment in lieu of feelings Richard was not prepared to verbalize. Born from the cruel idea that he had to communicate to his brother that the situation was wrong, all wrong, all fucking _WRONG. ___

It took one glance at Moran before Richard’s eyes twisted shut, and his chest constricted, caving in around the racing heart it was supposed to shield. The man’s entire body was working to will Richard somewhere else, as if three twitches of his anxious fingers would transport him anywhere but the flat his brother owned.

In front of him, Jim straightened his clothes, and turned away. Moran followed, and they both continued past Richard, walking with stiff shoulders and long strides. 

When they were gone from the room, Richard exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. 

He tasted the vile words that still sat heavy in the muscles of his mouth, and felt the sting that burned the side of his face. While the anger at the futility of his actions was brief, the man couldn’t fight the wave of disappointment at his rash decision making. 

Richard slid his legs forward, sinking down against the sofa. He cradled his head with his hands. 


End file.
